


The Other Side of This Bright Sun

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I've been told that people in the army do more by 7:00AM than I do in an entire day. But if I wake up at 6:59AM and turn to you to trace the outline of your lips with mine, I will have done enough and killed no one in the process.</i><br/>(6:59AM - Shane Koyczan)</p><p>Or. </p><p>Steve and Maria wake each other up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side of This Bright Sun

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK I CAN FINISH SOMETHING. 
> 
> This is an ages old Tumblr prompt from hecklesyeah. I'm so sorry it took literally forever. I hope this suffices!
> 
> (Also unbetaed. So you know.)

**Hospital**

He sleeps like the dead. 

Even with tubes and wires still attached (not for long, she’d wager, given the way his injuries are healing) he lies still on the bed, unmoving save for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. It’s indicative of the man, calm in the chaos. 

(She’s always tossed and turned, kicked out. She works hard at believing it isn’t reflective of her life.)

Maria hates him. 

Steve’s finger twitches and she holds her breath, half hoping he doesn’t wake up, half relieved when he does. The first glimpse of those all American blue eyes shows them fogged over, a bit glassy. Then he blinks and it’s gone. “Hill.”

She knows her role here, knows what she’s supposed to say. Gratitude and congratulations, sympathies about losing Barnes. Her hands tighten on the frame of his bed. She actually has no idea what she’s going to say when she opens her mouth. Maria always knows what to say. 

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” 

His face doesn’t change much. He keeps watching her with that same clear gaze. “What I needed to. What I knew I could count on my team to handle.” 

It takes her too long to realize she’s the one growling. “Did you even  _ think _ , Rogers?” Because Nat deciding and agreeing to spill SHIELD secrets all over the internet is one thing, but asking her to shoot on Captain America? 

His eyes fall closed and she’s startled at the feeling that races through her. He looks exhausted and when his eyes open again they’re hard. Maria hates the way her breath backs up in her lungs. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

It’s the very wrong thing to say. 

“The right- Are you blind? Are you that dense?” She knows he’s not, is the thing. She’s well aware of the front he puts up in comparison to the mind behind it. “I could have killed you.” 

_ I almost did _ . 

“Not firing would have given Hydra time to figure out what happened. They’d already made it to you once, they were sending men to Nat. The whole plan would have been for nothing after that.” He shifts. She doesn’t wonder if it’s out of discomfort. “You were always going to choose the people first.” 

Maria has to breathe in and out carefully, lest she lash out and re-injure a hero and national treasure. “If you’d died, I would have been on the stand today asking why I didn’t save you, why I didn’t wait. Your  _ orders  _ wouldn’t have meant a damn thing to them. I let Hydra infiltrate my organization, and killed you. How do they know I’m not the enemy too, that it wasn’t my plan all along? They’d ask if I really thought Captain America would order me to shoot when it was likely he wouldn’t make it out alive.”

“History says that’s exactly me. I did fly a plane into the ocean seventy years ago.” 

“It’s not cute. The only reason those hearings are even tolerable is because you lived.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admits after a few beats. “I won’t apologize.” He shifts again and she hates the thump of her heart when he fixes earnest eyes on her. “Not for keeping Bucky busy long enough to save millions of lives.” 

She swears vehemently. 

His face goes hard again. “If they want to focus on how close I was to dying, then they’re missing... everything. That plan doesn’t work without you, Hill. The world is not saved without you firing on those carriers.” 

Maria watches him, steady eyes doing nothing to assuage her anger. Instead, she growls again and shoves away on the bed frame. Her heels click angrily across the hospital tiel. She pauses at the door, her back still to him. “Sometimes, Rogers, I wish it was a hell of a lot easier to hate you. 

She doesn’t wait for a reply. 

 

**Office**

It’s not that he’s been obsessed with her, per se, but the image of Hill in that black business dress, the irritation and frustration writ large over her face and loud and clear in her voice stays with them well into whatever it is they’re doing through Stark Industries. 

_ I wish it was a hell of a lot easier to hate you. _

He gets the sentiment. It’s not exactly the same, how frustrating she is to work with, stoic and unruffled, matter-of-fact with him, but a little playful with Clint and Nat. He wishes he could hate her too, if only so he didn’t have to like her quite so much. 

(He’s always been a sucker for women like Hill. It’s disconcerting to think that maybe he has a type. 

Wherever he is in hiding, Steve’s pretty sure Bucky’s laughing at him right now.)

He tries, probably a bit too hard, to get her to at least stop looking at him with a blank face. He hates that it gets old fast, that it feels like another responsibility he can’t quite hang onto. He hates how exhausted it all makes him feel, like he’s fighting with her every day, even though they do make a terrifyingly efficient team. It’s a thrilling thought, what they could accomplish if she wasn’t so dead set on treating him so clinically. 

He sighs as he taps on her office door. It’s getting late - too late, really, - but JARVIS had been happy to inform him that yes, Hill was still here, still in her office. 

(He wishes she weren’t. He’d watched as much as the coverage of the inquisition as he could get his hands on. He’d waffled between guilt, twisted pride and respectful admiration at Hill’s careful poise. 

It had been a startling insight into how she’d risen in SHIELD’s ranks so quickly.) 

The door slides back and Steve’s just opening his mouth in greeting when his eyes land on Hill. He almost does a spit-take. 

She’s actually asleep, he realizes after a few seconds. Her head’s pillowed on her folded arms, hair fanned long around her head. He considers letting her sleep, dropping off the files and leaving her be, but a thought for her neck and reminders of sleeping on the hard ground have him reaching for her shoulder. 

She doesn’t startle awake, but Steve feels the way her muscles tense under the weight of his hand. 

“It’s Steve,” he says, and she doesn’t immediately relax, but he feels less like she’s about to spring. “Just dropping off some files.” He pauses, unsure for a moment. “You should go to bed.”

She sits up and he steps back. There’s a crease on her cheek from her sleeve and it’s the first time he’s had a kind of unbridled chance to just look. She looks as tired as he feels. 

“When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?” he asks quietly, hoping he sounds unthreatening. He drops the files by her elbow. 

She doesn’t rub her eyes, but he thinks by the way her fingers twitch it’s a near thing. “I think I was six.” 

Steve snorts despite himself, his mouth twitching at the corners. It’s these glimpses that make him want more, a sharp snark that he’s always liked. “Get to bed. Everything can wait.” 

“It really can’t,” Hill replies, and this time she does rub her eyes. She waves one at her computer, where six reports are open simultaneously. “Hydra’s been busy.” 

Steve thinks of the paperwork in his files, the reports he goes through and then looks to the reports on the screen. “How many agents are abroad?” 

“Too many,” she answers, “and not enough.” She stiffens and he gets the distinct sense she hadn’t meant to say that, least of all to him. He assumes that’s where the surge of frustration and anger comes from, the way it’s immediately chased by resignation. 

“How much of this have you been doing on your own?”

“There’s more to running a secret spy agency than grand corner offices,” she replies with a wry smile.

Steve looks around. Her office is anything but grand. He’s heard both Pepper and Tony lament the fact that she won’t take something bigger and sleeker. “It suits you.”

She looks up at him, surprised. 

“The office,” he blurts. “Suits you better than something huge.” 

She blinks at him. He almost shifts awkwardly. 

“Look,” he finally says, curling his fingers into his palms. “Just…” He knows he doesn’t have the right, especially not with her and he’s already wincing as he pushes on. “You’re useless half-asleep and in pain because of a crick in your neck.”

The glare he gets in return is utterly unsurprising. He holds up his hands. 

“We’ll get back to it in the morning.”

Her glare intensifies. Steve feels his exhausted resignation come back twenty-fold. 

“Not because you can’t handle it,” he says, and thinks maybe he sounds a little shorter than he means to. “But because we need you, preferably not burnt out and exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

And Steve, well… the history books seem to forget to talk about his temper and his abysmal impulse control. 

“For Christ’s sake, Maria, you were asleep on your desk ten minutes ago. I’m not the enemy here.”

There’s a beat, then two before she says very, very calmly. “Are you sure about that?”

He thinks of her face in the hospital room, tight, drawn and accusatory; resentful. “You’ll never know unless you give me the chance.” 

She stars at him for a few more beats than he could ever be comfortable with. Eventually she says, “7am. Don’t be late.” 

They both know he never is. 

 

**Couch**

The little farmhouse Clint calls home always looks so entirely unassuming to her. It screams quiet, definitely secure, and not like one of the globe’s best assassins and secret agents could spend even five seconds on it’s cookie-cutter property. 

She lets herself in on silent feet, eyes flicking around out of habit than actual concern for safety. She knows when she isn’t followed, and there really isn’t anyone who cares about her whereabouts right now that isn’t in this house. 

Speaking of. 

Her eyes alight on Rogers, prone on the couch and she bites back a sigh. He’s not sleeping. She knows what he looks like when he passes out now, between the hospital and the cat naps they’ve forced each other to take while slogging through the unglamourous side of management and international spy work. 

It feels strangely normal to set her bag down at the end of the couch by his feet and almost collapse to the floor, a little closer to his head. 

“Didn’t think we’d see you.”

She hums noncommittally. “You should be sleeping.” 

“Rich, coming from you.” But it’s teasing, not malicious. It’s normal. It’s strange to think she has a normal with a man she used to resent more than a little bit. 

She doesn’t resent him now. She’s used to him, his different way of handling tony, his dry humour, his technical expertise. He’s dedicated and responsible and she’s actually rather grateful for the division of labour. 

“How’s clean up?” he murmurs, because of course it would fall to her to untangle the mess their altercation with the Maximoff twins left behind. 

“A nightmare,” she replies easily. “They want Banner locked up.” 

Rogers blows out a breath. 

“Do you know what he say?” she asks quietly. 

“He wouldn’t talk about it.” 

Maria doesn’t blame Banner in the slightest. She feels her heart thump and recognizes it as uncomfortable nerves before she says, “And you?”  

“I’m fine.” 

He says it too fast and Maria stays perfectly still and silent. She can wait him out. 

“I… Left unfinished business. Back in the forties.” 

She could say nothing, but it’s not in her nature. “Director Carter?” 

The ensuing silence is answer enough. It irks her. She’s never been the type to dwell on the past. She can’t afford to be. But that’s not him. She turns her head until she can see the edge of his jaw. “Ever think it’s holding you back? All those memories of her.”

“Not sure I have anything for me here,” he eventually answers, voice low and intimate in ways that certaily make her sit up and take notice. She can see the way he’s looking at her out of the corner of her eye, warm and a little awed. 

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

Her inhale is sharp. “I didn’t know.” 

“Now you do,” he says quietly. “No pressure. No expectations.” 

Maria looks away. It’s not something she’s let herself consider, more because romance has never really factored into her life plans, let alone a romance with Captain America. “You’re going into battle tomorrow.” 

He laughs humourlessly. “Against a vibranium-shelled computer program that thinks we’re the problem and not the solution.” His face is a mess when she looks back at him. “Last time, I waited too.” 

_ And look how that turned out. _

Not that this is much better, she thinks and digs her nails into her thighs. 

“Maria.”

The shiver drills hard and fast down her spine at everything he puts into her name. 

“We can’t-” She doesn’t know what to do with this, where to go, what she wants. She abhors being blindsided. 

His fingers ghost over her ear, then drag over her shoulder and upper arm. He leaves them there, a focus point. “Think about it,” he tells her softly. “If we defeat Ultron…”

“When.” It comes out unthinkingly, but with conviction. Like she can’t imagine any other outcome. 

His hand brushes through her ponytail as he pulls his fingers back. “When we defeat Ultron, we can revisit this. You can tell me why it’s a terrible idea.” 

It is. It really is, but she can hear the smile in his voice. She huffs. “Let’s save the world first.”

“Yes ma’am.”

 

(He finds her in the aftermath, in the internal wreckage of the hellicarrier. She’s looking a little worse for wear, she knows, but she feels in her element coordinating triage and the safe return of the Sokovian citizens.

“Hill.”

She dismisses the agent beside her and takes her time making her way towards him. “Wasn’t sure you were going to pull through for a while there.” 

She’d been worried about it, even as she shoved that worry down into a little box to deal with later. It flips her stomach now, how close she can say they came to not pulling out of this in one piece. 

He shrugs. His suit is battle dusted and worn, ripped in places and more than a little bloody but his eyes are bright and sure on hers. “Got thinking maybe there’s a reason to stay around.”

“Oh?” she says as her mouth kicks up. It’s heady and she’s still not sure, but he just shrugs. 

“Maybe. Figured it would be worth sticking around to find out.” 

Maria watches him for more than a few breaths. “Might be,” she acknowledges quietly. 

Steve - she can’t very well call him Rogers now - beams.)

 

**Plane**

He finds her curled up in a back corner of the plane, a far away little seat. It never ceases to amaze him, the way she tries to make herself as small as possible when she sleeps. He leans against the wall to watch, just for a moment, thinking of how far they’ve come. It’s worth the work, she’s worth the work he’s put in after the fall of Ultron. Earning her trust, her faith and eventually the privilege of touch is not something Steve takes lightly. 

(He’s not sure about her heart, though she has his. He works hard at not thinking about it.) 

Now though…

“You think too loud.” 

He chuckles, crouches down as he gets closer. “I’m glad you weren’t there,” he says, because as much as he’d worried about Bucky in the aftermath of that explosion, as much as he still worries about him, the fact that Maria hadn’t been there when she should have been made everything a whole lot easier to swallow and breathe through. 

“I appreciate not being blown up,” she agrees, voice still a little sleep clogged.

He and Maria have not been immune to the conflict and division inherent in the Sokovia Accords. Maria believes in regulation. Steve can’t stand being shackled. They’ve gone around and around about it, calm because they both know the other isn’t wrong. Not in concept, anyway. 

“I’m serious, stop.” She unfolds herself from her ball, sitting properly now and he feels guilt. He wants to believe it isn’t any easier for her, knowing that in a handful of hours, the moment the plane touches down, they’ll go their separate ways with no idea of when they’ll be able to see each other again. At the very least, he knows she’s been losing sleep over the whole debacle. 

He can’t stop himself from shifting to sit, from wrapping his hand around the deceptively delicate bones of her ankle. She presses her palm to his shoulder because she knows he needs it. 

“Find him?” 

Steve hums. “Closest we’ve got.”

“When do you leave?”

“When we touch down,” he murmurs back. “It wasn’t him, Maria. It wasn’t Bucky.” 

“What if it was?”

“Then he’s not responsible,” Steve says immediately. “He’s been brainwashed for decades. Hydra’s files say so.” 

Maria blows out a breath. “You’re going to have to give them a more plausible subject.” 

“I don’t have one.” 

Her fingers squeeze on his shoulder, bite in a little. “I can’t help you after this,” she murmurs. 

_ So let me help you now _ . 

He rests his head on her thigh.

“You’re already chasing this. The world is out for blood. Important people died in that explosion.”

He’s pathetically grateful when she bypasses her own feelings on privacy and public displays of affection to slip her fingers through his hair. 

“You’re outgunned and outnumbered,” she goes on. “But you’ve got loyal friends, people in important places who are willing to help. And,” he hears the smile in her voice, “A young woman who trusts you and has something to prove.”

“And you?” he murmurs into her leg, hoping she doesn’t hear. The hitch in her breath tells him he’s not so lucky. Her fingers brush over his ear and he looks up. 

“It’s never been like this,” she tells him, barely loud enough to hear over the engine. “I’ve never-”

“I’m in love with you,” he says and kind of hates just how relieved he feels at finally saying it. 

“I know.”

She doesn’t say it back and he doesn’t honestly expect her to. She brushes her fingers against his ear again, his neck; intimate touches. With Maria, he knows, it’s always in the little things. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he tells her, feels the certainty of it in his blood. He’s never been the type to give up - is objectively horrible at it, really - and he most certainly is not prepared to give up on her. 

(On them.) 

 

**Bed**

The beep of the door wakes her, the quiet padding of feet across the carpet. There’s a dull thump of a bag being dropped on the floor before the sound of a belt and the thump of pants. The rustling of cotton is next, a few more footsteps, then she feels the mattress dip. 

“Paris is a little romantic for you, Agent Hill.” 

She almost laughs, but it comes out as a hum. She’s exhausted. Between carefully hunting him so she doesn’t find him, staying ahead of both government and private organization salivating at the idea of bringing Captain America to heel and Phil’s inhumans… God, she’d just wanted a break. She wanted a few days without Tony hovering over her shoulder, without Natasha’s knowing face. 

(She’d wanted him.)

“You’re getting thinner,” he murmurs, greedy hands sliding over her body. It’s not arousing and not meant to be so, just re-familiarizing himself with every inch of her. She feels the tug in her belly to do the same, but it’ll have to wait. She just wants some sleep. 

“Stress,” she says, deadpan, even as she rolls into him. She makes a noise. “You’re as solid as ever.” 

“Wanda’s creative,” he replies in amusement. “She likes learning new recipes. I think Sam’s in love.” 

Maria snorts. “With Agent Carter.” 

“And how is the world’s best double agent?” 

She jams her elbow into his stomach for that. She’s the one that has to fake her way through meetings on his whereabouts and tactics on subduing him. “Trying to pry out the well being of, and these are her words, her favourite bird brain.” 

Steve’s chest shakes beneath her cheek in laughter. “Sam’s going to die.” 

It rushes up in her then, fast and overwhelming. Her arms clamp around him, tight and possessive in ways she normally isn’t. She doesn’t realize she’s done it until his hands move steadily over her bath, soothing. His chest heaves beneath her. 

“I hate this.” 

She doesn’t have to ask what he means and doesn’t have to answer either. She can’t, really. To do so would be to tell him to sign the damn Accords and despite agreeing with the concept over oversight - she had been part of SHIELD, after all - she sees first hand how worn down Tony looks, how haunted from trying to play the right politics. 

She doesn’t want to see that in Steve. 

“We’re making it work,” she answers finally in a generally uncharacteristic show of optimism. She feels Steve kiss her head. 

“In  _ Paris _ .” He presses his face into her hair now and she hears him take a great, greedy inhale. “You picked the City of Love, Maria Hill.” 

“Shut up,” she groans, but she’s smiling and they both know it. “I’m trying to sleep.” 

“I haven’t seen you in months and you want to  _ sleep _ ?”

“I’m-” She curls closer, tighter, unsure of what to do with everything clogging her chest. She’s tired and she’s missed him and none of it is over, not even close. 

“Sleeping,” he finishes for her, knowing and soft. “Go ahead, I’ve got you.” 

He does. She’s let him. 

They’ll go back to their real lives in a few days - seventy-two hours, she thinks - but they’ll have this. She’ll have this. A weird impasse where she knows what’s right, knows what he wants and what she wants but has no way of reconciling either of those things. She’ll find it though, all the more determined to do so, to bring him home with Barnes and maybe, just maybe, have a little while to breathe. 

She thinks maybe, with him and them and the found family that is the Avengers, she could like that. 

 


End file.
